great risk, Sir John.”
He responded with a shrug, a laconic “If I were not willing, my lady, I’d not have offered.”
Maude admired his audacity, but she was not about to second-guess Robert or Miles on a matter of military judgment. She was turning to find out what they thought of John Marshal’s scheme when the door burst open and Gilbert Fitz John plunged into the room.
“Forgive my bad manners, my lady,” he said, “but this news could not wait. Geoffrey de Mandeville has betrayed us. That whoreson Judas has gone over to Stephen’s queen!”
“ Food is getting scarcer by the day in Winchester,” William de Warenne reported. “They cannot hold out much longer, not unless they get help and soon. And in truth, I doubt that aid will be coming. Those who can stomach Maude’s queenship are already with her. The others are reluctant bridegrooms at best, being dragged to the altar against their will. If they think there is a chance that the wedding might be called off, they’ll go to ground faster than any fox you’ve ever seen! Men like my cousin Warwick and Hugh Bigod are not about to spill their blood on Maude’s behalf. They’re not likely to get within a hundred miles of Winchester, not as long as the outcome is in doubt.”
The other men agreed with his optimistic assessment. Matilda alone kept silent, listening uneasily as they shared stories of the siege: rumors of sickness in the city and dissention in the castle, accounts of livestock being butchered for food, a word-of-mouth tale about a pack of starving stray dogs chasing down a drunkard-or was it a child?
That was too much for Matilda. She understood the strategy-to force Maude’s army into a fight it could not win, with hunger the weapon of choice. An effective weapon, for certes, but an indiscriminate one. Was she the only one troubled by that?
“I have a question,” she said, so abruptly that they all turned to stare at her. “Those who are suffering the most during the siege are the citizens of Winchester. Women and children, priests, pilgrims-they are supposed to be spared. Those are the rules of war, are they not? But these rules do not stop the shedding of innocent blood. So how do you keep from thinking of them-the innocents? Please…I truly need to know.”
There was an awkward silence. She looked from one to the other-from the Fleming Ypres to her brother-in- law the bishop, to the Earls of Northampton, Surrey, and Essex, to William Martel, her husband’s steward-and saw the same sentiment on the faces of these very unlike men: discomfort that she should ask such a foolish question and reluctance to offend her by saying so.
The bishop took it upon himself to allay her qualms. “It is always distressing to see Christians sorely afflicted, Matilda, my dear. But it is not given to mortal men to understand the workings of the Almighty. It is as Scriptures say, that ‘Now we see through a glass, darkly, but then, face to face.’ All will be revealed to us in God’s good time.”
This was not the answer Matilda had been looking for. The men realized that, but only William de Warenne ventured to improve upon the bishop’s effort. After a brief hesitation, the young earl decided he could best serve his queen by candor. “I am not qualified to argue theology, madame. But I can speak as a soldier. In war, men do what they must to stay alive…and sometimes they do what they later regret. Am I sorry for the suffering of those you call the innocents? I am. Do I think much about their suffering? No, in all honesty, I do not. What good would it do? The people in Winchester will be no less hungry because I pity their plight.”
She should have known better. What had she expected to hear? Matilda nodded politely, and saw their relief. After a few moments, the conversation resumed. They were still certain that they need not fear reinforcements from Scotland and Normandy. Maude and Robert would have been leery of bringing a Scots army across the border. Nor would Maude have entreated Geoffrey to come to her rescue. The men laughed at the very thought, agreeing that Maude would starve first. Matilda said nothing. She seemed composed, but she’d begun to fidget with her wedding band, as she invariably did whenever she was under stress. That was how well Ypres had come to know her during this unlikely alliance of theirs; even her nervous habits were familiar to him. He watched her twisting and tugging at her ring, and he would have comforted her if he could, but he’d rather she grieve for the townspeople of Winchester than mourn for Stephen.
The bishop was proposing a plan to divert a stream that flowed past the castle when there was a sudden commotion outside. Warenne was the closest and the most curious, and ducked under the tent flap to investigate. He was back almost at once, wide-eyed and incredulous. “This,” he exclaimed, “you all have to see for yourselves!”
The camp was in turmoil, and in the very midst of it-seated astride a sleek white stallion, surrounded by an armed escort, and reveling in the uproar-was none other than Randolph de Germons, Earl of Chester. They were all taken aback, none more so than Matilda. She stared at Chester in disbelief, not finding her voice until he started to swing from the saddle. “No!” she cried. “Do not dismount, for you’ll not be staying. You are not wanted here.”
Chester looked truly surprised, and she hated him all the more for that, for the arrogance that allowed him to imagine his betrayals would be overlooked, his treachery forgotten. “That is a strange jest, madame,” he said coldly, “one likely to offend rather than amuse.”
“I assure you I find no humor in your presence here, my lord earl. I want you gone from my sight. How much more plainly need I speak than that?”
Chester was enraged. Angry color scorched his face, and he communicated so much tension to his stallion that the animal kicked out suddenly, causing the closest spectators to scatter. The earl yanked savagely on the reins, glaring at Matilda. “You are distraught, madame, do not know what you are saying. But I cannot indulge your whims, not with so much at stake. The king’s need is too great. I think it best that I speak with you, my lord bishop.”
Matilda spun around, but the bishop was as deliberate as Stephen was impulsive, and his face was impassive, his thoughts his own. She was never to know what his response would have been, for William de Ypres had sauntered forward, brandishing a drawn sword and a smile so full of mockery that it was in itself a lethal weapon, conveying mortal insult without need of any words whatsoever.
Words he had, though, each one aimed unerringly at Chester’s greatest vulnerability-his pride. “I can speak for the bishop,” he said, “for every man jack here. We heed but one voice in this camp-that of the queen. Now that flag of truce means no more to me than it would to you, but our lady is a woman of honour. So thank God for her forbearance and ride out, my lord earl, whilst you still can.”
Chester showed no fear, only fury. “You fools,” he snarled, “you shortsighted, pompous fools! Mark this day well, remember that you had a chance to save your king. Instead, you heeded a woman and a foreign cutthroat, and sealed his doom. He’ll stay chained up at Bristol till he rots, and glad I’ll be of it!”
Chester spurred his stallion without warning, and men dived out of his way as the horse plunged forward into the crowd. His men hastily followed, retreating in a hail of hostile catcalls and curses.
Matilda had moved away, jamming small fists into the folds of her skirts as she sought to regain her composure. When she turned back to face the men, she was braced for disapproval. “If you say I ought to have accepted his offer, I cannot dispute you. But I could not help myself. I could not pretend that I believed his lies, that I did not despise him. I can only pray that I have not harmed my husband…”
“You did not,” Ypres said, with an assurance that she envied.
“You think not, Willem…truly?”
“I think spurning Chester was for the best. I’ll not deny that I enjoyed it immensely. But it was still a wise move, for the man would have been a constant source of trouble. Not even a saint could fully trust him, and our men are far from saintly. We’d have had an army of hungry cats, so intent upon watching the rat in our midst that Maude would be forgotten!”
The bishop smiled at that, then nodded. “It is rare indeed when the two of us are in agreement about anything under God’s sky,” he said wryly, “but we do agree about the Earl of Chester. He would have been a dangerous distraction, more of a hindrance than a help. The man has proven himself to be thoroughly untrustworthy, an unscrupulous self-seeker who serves only himself.”
Matilda stared at her brother-in-law in amazement, for he seemed to have spoken utterly without irony. She’d been incensed not just by Geoffrey de Mandeville’s treachery, but also by his cynicism. In offering his aid, he’d made no attempt to convince her of his good faith, sardonically sure that her need would outweigh her anger. He was not blind to ethical boundaries-as was Chester-merely indifferent to them. But as she looked now at Stephen’s brother, she realized that he was quite unlike those two renegade earls. It would never occur to him that others might consider him an “unscrupulous self-seeker,” too. He truly believed himself to be on the side of the angels, a pious
